Fire Emblem: Blood Brand
by Heathclaw
Summary: After years of peace, unrest is once again stirring in Tellius. The Branded, overlooked and mistreated for so many long years, are plotting a murderous coup in the shadows. Rated T for occasional blood and violence. Contains mostly OC's.


Fire Emblem copyright Nintendo

This story copyright Heathclaw

Prologue: Revolution

It was snowing heavily in Nevassa. The white flakes danced down from the pitch-dark sky, piling up in drifts and glittering in the orange glow of the streetlights and windows. The streets themselves were all but empty; everyone, rich and poor, was inside, celebrating the coming of the New Year. Nevassa's citizens talked and laughed with family and friends, happy in the knowledge that in no longer than an hour it would be the year 999.

There was one man on the streets that night, trudging his way through the whirling ice and snow. He looked quite out of place in the slummy street that he was walking down; he was dressed finely from his high black boots up to his dark silk hat, clutching his ebon furred jacket closed from the wind with his black leather gloves.

The man walked past ramshackle houses and loud, boisterous inns, never breaking his stride. Once he'd almost reached the end of the street, he paused, took a furtive glance in both directions, and then turned down a side alley. His pace quickened, snow flying from his boots as he tramped down the alley. The buildings here were even shabbier than those on the main street. No lights came from these broken windows, and the few working lanterns sputtered dangerously in the icy breeze. The man halted in front of the oldest and tallest building in the alley. It looked like it might have once been an apartment. Its windows were boarded up, and the doorframe sagged wide open, like a sorrowful, gaping mouth.

He stepped through the threshold, over the remnants of the shattered front door, and into the dark and musty hallway. A candelabra stood on a table nearby, but the wind had long since blown it out. A dim light flickered further down the hallway, illuminating a crossroads. The man headed forward, navigating the labyrinthine passages of the building, keeping one hand on the rotting walls for support. After a time, he came across a large door. It had fallen into disrepair, just like everything else in the building. A sign hung crookedly on the doorknob, peeling letters proclaiming: "Out of order. Do not enter."

Ignoring the warning, the man pushed aside the door and stepped inside. His heartbeat quickened. A spiral stone stairwell descended from the door, lit by bright torches that hung on the granite walls. The torches were spaced so that a swathe of shadow came between each light, adding to the eerie effect. The man headed down, closing the door behind him. Fifty steps, one hundred steps... he lost track of how many steps it took him to finally reach the bottom. Two torches burned at the bottom of the stairwell, illuminating the figure of a waiting sentry standing in front of an ornate double door. The sentry raised his spear in challenge as the man approached.

"Halt! What is your allegiance?"

The man did not speak. Instead, he slowly removed his right glove, and showed the back of his hand to the sentry. Imprinted on his hand was a scarlet brand, a complex pattern of swirls, dots, and symbols, beautiful and sinister at the same time. Satisfied, the sentry lowered his weapon.

The man made to cover his brand, but the sentry stopped him. "Wait, brother. Wear it openly. Here, it is a symbol of pride." He stepped aside, giving the man free access to the double doors. The man took a deep breath, then pushed open the heavy door.

He entered a vast, high-ceilinged cavern, packed with people. Everyone present had a brand which they displayed prominently, on their arms, foreheads, backs, ankles, or hands. They came in a myriad of colors and patterns, but they all evoked the same feelings of wonder and fear. The cavern was lit by a large bonfire that glowed in the center of the room. Four sets of double doors lined the walls of the cavern, each one presumably another path back to the surface, as people kept appearing through them.

The man headed towards the bonfire, mingling with the crowd. He was struck by the variety of people he encountered. There were those dressed finely like himself, and others who were only in rags. They were young and old, scarred and fair, women and men. Quite a few of them carried weapons at their sides. Several of the people seemed distrustful of the rest, looking and speaking to no one. Still, others walked around greeting everyone they met. The murmur of conversation buzzed through the cavern.

At twenty minutes to twelve, the northern door slammed open. A hush crept over the assembly as they all turned to look at the newcomer. He was a man of about 30 years, red haired, armored with pauldron, greave, and gauntlet. A crimson cape trailed off his shoulders, and a sword hung at his side. There was something about the man's posture and eyes that commanded respect, indeed, the crowd made way for the swordsman as he stepped into the room. With surprising agility, the man leapt onto a stone at the center of the room, and passed his hand over the bonfire. At once, the flames burned higher, coating everything in a blood red.

The man suddenly smiled, and it was as if the sun had descended into the room, making everyone feel warm and calm. "Brothers! Sisters!" the man called, his voice echoing across the room. "You all know why you have been called here! We are the Branded. For centuries, _centuries_, we have lived in fear. We have lived in isolation. We have been despised, hated, and disowned. I see it in each of your eyes, the pains that you take daily to hide your Brand, to hide your true identity from those around you, to protect yourself from the hatred you know will come once you are found out. I have called you here to bring you only the best of news! From the start of this New Year, we will take our lives back!"

There was excited murmuring at this, although several members of the crowd still looked on skeptically.

"We will do better!" the swordsman shouted, and silence fell again. "We will reverse this pattern, where the Branded are the lowest rung! Why do you think the Laguz and Beorc hate us? It is because they are _afraid_ of us! We, who have the blood of both races in our veins, have power beyond what they even dare to imagine! We, who are closer than any other in the appearance of the Goddess Ashunera, who the tales tell us had traits of both Laguz and Beorc! We have stayed silent and separate for too long, and no longer! At this very moment, we, the nine leaders of the Ashuneran, are gathering our brethren from all over the continent. With your aid and support, I guarantee that justice will be served at the break of the millennium! The corrupt, the bloated, and the cruel will be punished! At last, at very long last, we will be free!"

A great cheer sounded through the cavern. Across the continent of Tellius, the clocks struck midnight. Nine swords pierced the air. Nine crowds screamed their support. And in the year of Tellius, 999, a bloody revolution was set to begin.


End file.
